


Not a fault

by Blank_Ideas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Ideas/pseuds/Blank_Ideas
Summary: Set in an ending of tma where Jon and Martin successfully avoid death and manage to seal away the majority of the fear and Jonah himself.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Not a fault

Jonah sat there, as forced, upon his ebony throne, the hard backed chair having long since sprouted binds that clamped around his skinny wrists and held him still. He looked downwards to the ground that was layers upon layers of square chiseled marble beneath him. Six layers to be exact. 

Pushing him up above any, except the exceptionally tall, who entered the chilled heart of the Panopticon- his throne room now prison.

If it were any other instance he’d like this height, this distance, that was pasted between him and all who bore the fortune of looking at him as he rather enjoyed the analogy it put forward- him above those he watched, Elias Bouchard or rather Jonah Magnus, the superior above his inferior. It also gave him a rather easy vantage point, able to cast a glance and examine people with ease as their flaws were painfully pressed into visibility by the clambering light that emanated from beneath the grey stone of the room. 

For example Jonathan had come in a few times since the sinking of the tower, and Jonah had taken great delight in pointing out the creases of his shirt and the bags beneath his eyes, little casual observances indicating age and weakness that picked apart the so called Saviour with ease. It was good to know Jonathan was still pathetic, it appeased his ego.

Didn’t stop the little twig from returning, time and time again though.

Jonah wasn’t all that sure why if he were being honest, such a thought was disconcerting and regardless of all this power or Knowledge easily accessible at just the twitch of his fingertips, he was filled with such a violent noxious feeling at the sheer action of trying to slither his grasp through the cracks of the Panopticon. It felt as though there were this skin tight bubble that covered the archives and to push past it felt like a punch to the stomach. He had not lost count of the times he’d lost his meagre lunches to these testing escapes but that did not mean he was willing to try again. However imprisoned and chained up, Jonah was not an idiot. 

Disarmed as he was, he took pride in that, hadn't let his mind melt into the quiet beyond even if that left the mystery of Jonathan, Jon. The Archivist. The Saviour. The one who returned to the archives or rather the skeleton that remained time and time again despite how his and his dearest's actions had crumbled Jonah’s tower and reduced him to a fragile man that he was now.

Buried beneath the weight of his own statements and actions and even his own archive. From what he’d heard a thirteenth of the archive had been dedicated to each of the fears- all their files and tributes, all of their relics, piled up into the room where their Core would be trapped and struggle to push past that same skin tight bubble that Jonah supposed his own energy was twistedly used to fuel. They were all trapped with the exception of the extinction and the end whatever they may be up to- Jonah didn’t care all that much as he defied his now abundant opportunities to confront the irony of his situation.

Instead he questioned things. Even if he never got the answers.

Why did Jon come back?

What point was there behind it?

Never once had Jon gloated to him, nor looked at him with pity of absolvance, if Jon was not here to forgive him during his numerous visits then what was the purpose of entering the mausoleum of knowledge he'd trapped Jonah within.

Was it not enough for the man to know Jonah was wallowing in the darkness, deep beneath archives at the very base of the tunnels upon his uncomfortable throne where he would rot slowly.

Aging. 

Stiffening his back, he felt the ever constant cool press of the marble throne, how hard and unmoving it was with this ever present discomfort that caused a deep seeded ache within his bones. He wished he could shift his wrists, or his ankles, some motion that wasn’t slouching or stretching. But it was impossible to be comfortable when you were bound at a constant rate. 

His eyes ached, the bags beneath them feeling ever heavier as he was forced to remain sleepless and sustain himself on poor hand fed sandwiches and watching the ever motionless archive. Not a creak, not a peep, no intruders because quite literally no one was that stupid even if it had been some well time, since the apocalypse. Or whatever people liked to call his greatest achievement.

Jonah felt exhausted. It had been a long time since he’d felt much of anything after having been forcibly manacled to his chair and made to envision his centuries of work going to waste beneath the hottest flames imaginable. The recesses of his mind still felt smoky since and still he felt tired. 

The dual warden and prisoner heard himself exalt before he registered his need too. Watched his breath turn into green tinted wisps beneath the cool Panopticon grasp as the light seemed to pulse as if to exasperate his oncoming migraine in complaint of what had been a very soft sound.

Jonah would mutter something at it, possibly sharp and cruel or witty and charismatic, but he knew the headaches he got when that ominous gloom reached it’s full brightness and would rather save any cutting marks for Jon, who any words would mean nothing unfortunately- but the light would not hurt so much when he had a proper focal point. Jonathon visited often enough, once a month for a full afternoon of back and forth arguing and once he’d tired himself out- questions. 

The main person to visit him was his dearest- Martin. Gangling redhead reluctantly taking care of him an hour, ignoring his words before he left. Not a word. Just cold eyes of a deep brown variety that reminded him subtly of the bark of a dead and withered tree. Jonah knew he only came upon Jon’s request, that the chained remains of Jonah should be respected at least a little bit while the saviour of the damned world collected the last of the fear’s more… wandering trinkets. Though that did not muffle the look of hate in Martin’s eyes.

Jonah hated him too, remembering it was his sweaty hands that bound him here in the first place and his meek yet oh so grown up voice that told Jon to set the archives ablaze, let the pyre’s smoke blot out the eye and choke Elias (as he’d called him) before he took the chance to incinerate the mechanisms of Jonah’s mind. His throat still closed up when Martin came about and his mind still felt the lingering of smoke clouding more distinct thoughts.

He heard the heavy door be pushed to the side, the sound echoed through emanating from behind his back.

Jonah could tell by the heavy sounding steps.

“Ah Martin, isn’t it lovely to see you again?” Jonah grinned because he could already see that ever present grimace that tainted what could be a very soft and almost pretty face, the grimace bore all his distaste and discomfort for the situation and Jonah thrived off of it. “What’s the meal of today, I hope I don't have to remind you that egg and cress is disgusting?” 

Martin rounded the platforms neatly, as always dressed in some smart looking sweater with what was undeniably some sort of band t-shirt beneath- most likely Mitski or something of the sort. Peter liked Mitski didn’t he? 

“Good morning Elias.” Oh well this was new. Martin raised his chin upwards, defiant almost in expression as he eyed Jonah with quirked brows. “I can confirm I remember after the last spit up. It’s cucumber and ham today, Jon said you might enjoy some variation.” His tone is curt and rude.

Jonah wrinkled his nose at such an offering, huffing because he certainly did not like the combination and he certainly had never asked for variation.

“Not to your tastes? We can’t all be picky, definitely not you anyway.” Martin climbed the stairs, two at a time with his lanky legs and exhaled as he examined Jonah through the clear lenses of his circular glasses. He moved forward, hesitant hands pushing away the stray hairs that had been irritating Jonah for some time now- and presented the small white bag that his lunches usually came in up into the air with his free hand.

“Thanks.” Jonah muttered, feeling a little better with those ridiculous free hairs that he had no hands nor gel to push back. Briefly he wondered how long his hair had gotten, far too long but as usual not growing at quite the same rate as any regular person’s which he was thankful for. He shifted, settling a little when Martin moved backwards and unwrapped his offering. There was something softer about his movements, something gentle and far more anxious than the usual stone cold anger that was always deposited itself squatly in Martin’s atmosphere. It was not reverence or fear, nothing akin to affection just a simple civil composure that Jonah wasn’t too sure whether he should be worried or not over. “Nice tshirt,” he tried to sneer it as if that would prevent the sincerity he had said his thanks with, “Get it from a concert? Must have been boring if you went.” Now he was just being straight up insulting.

“Still better than watching these walls all day long.” Martin hummed, offering the sandwich forward so Jonah could make the effort of leaning forward. “What an interesting life you’re leading.” 

Jonah bit hard on the sandwich and sat back in order to chew and swallow, glaring at Martin all the while because the man was right and Jonah did not appreciate it suiting him so much.

“Better than looking like your mother’s floral wallpaper.” Jonah grumbled and leant in to take another bite, even if he didn’t like it, the sensation of food settling, it felt better than the aching hollowness that gnawed at him- a lack of fear.

“At least i can dress myself.” Martin shrugged his comment off like a duck in water and simply pulled the sandwich back, thefting a bite himself. Jonah huffed and did not accept another bite on the sheer notion that Martin had gotten his germs on it. Martin shrugged and sat himself on the floor, back to Jonah with his feet hanging over a step edge. “If you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles.”

Jonah bit his tongue. That. That was annoying, that was- almost biting. He was surprised, unsure if it was the pleasant sort or not due to how genuinely taken aback he was but such a sharp comment that dug into Jonah so well

“I’m glad your fiance’s horrible social skills are rubbing off on you finally. You might grow a backbone yet.” 

“Speaking of which,” Martin floated by ever so easily and it made Jonah grind his teeth, he wanted to rile him up, some recognition or reaction would be better than this breezy middle class civility, “The date has been set. We were thinking at some point in December actually, gives us something to look forward to and besides, I like the snow.” Martin paused, smiling fondly at his sandwich, “Though i don’t suppose we’ll be having much- maybe rain.”

Jonah exhaled, shifting in his seat and resisting the nostalgia that tugged at his heart chords, knowing full well that he could not have the same. “December is a nice time for a wedding. Maybe go abroad for some time- always get some snow in the alps.” Watching Martin stiffen and turn to face him, the frames of his glasses making him seem rather owlish, drew a smile to his lips. "Or you can always get Google.Husband to look up the weather for you. That's what i used to do.”

Martin moved forward, offering the sandwich up again and this time Jonah took a bite before sitting back with an odd sense of satisfaction. He wasn’t sure where it had come from.

Martin was the first to break the silence that had sunk in as if in surprise of Jonah’s peaceful offering to the conversation.

He laughed. Bitter and still with some level of frozen anger- though Jonah couldn't really fault him for that.


End file.
